


Below the Surface

by Makodarko



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Amnesia, Amnesiac Bucky Barnes, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attraction, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bondage, Bucky Barnes Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Denial of Feelings, Dom Frank Castle, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Feels, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hormones, Hurt Steve Rogers, I Called Him Sir Challenge, Imprinting, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Made For Each Other, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Multi, POV Steve Rogers, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reconciliation, Rejection, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, Sub Steve Rogers, Subdrop, Super Soldier Serum, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23548561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makodarko/pseuds/Makodarko
Summary: Thanks to Tony Stark, Bucky doesn't remember that they fell in love decades ago, on the hot summer nights spent at his grandmother's.-Steve spends his days remembering that summer, and dropping into Soulbond sickness - Mistaking it for a hormonal blip assumed to be caused by the serum.-After their first mission together, they realise how dire the consequences can be if Bucky doesn't remember soon.Snippet:"You should get used to the distance. Better start now than later!"Snap my fingers and I'm back there, back where they took Bucky away from me. Or rather, me away from Bucky. Me out of Bucky. They pried him open and pulled out all the parts of me he had savoured and swallowed whole. Replacing me with a generic pin-up model, one he now recalls as the girl he left with Grandmother when he got drafted. Bonnie. He could remember a name like that, while mine was a stranger to his lips when he first came to. My grandmother's reduced to nothing more than a hot summer with a Bonnie. They'd cut me out like a tumour, buffed out all marks I'd made on his mind, and made me watch.Snap my fingers and I'm back there.NOTE: Chapters 1 & 2 being rewritten.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Where is he

You know that empty sound, a condensed echo, the clock to a click that hollow tiles make when one catches the heel of your shoe? Thlock Thlock Thlock. The first one I came across was at my grandmother’s, right by the base of the marble pillar that separated the living room from the rest of the house. It stood as a silent marker, for those who knew, and everyone knew, that there were to be no shoes beyond it. I had always known the pillar to be a beacon for visitors to park their footwear. More often than not, visiting my grandma began with a game of hot lava, but with generic flip-flops from the K-mart up the street. Always with the electric pink or blue Y shaped straps against white foam, surrounding the pillar in a sloppy concentric circle. There was the occasional sneaker from those who came in from the city. But even city-folk would catch on to the open-toed necessity by the third day. It took him all of 3 minutes.

He had just come in from some part of the city I had never heard of. Arriving in the middle of the afternoon, the most sluggish of times, 4pm - When I spent lounging, doing nothing till dinner, with the neighbour kids (Di and Miguel), each having our turn at relief from the heat as the oscillating fan blew from couch end to couch end. My head had been lolling over the arm rest, eyes closed as the fan turned my way. A familiar wave of serenity reaching its peak between my shoulder blades, I sighed readying to embrace it when -

Thlock Thlock Thlock

Echoed from the doorway. Miguel’s legs against mine suddenly turned unbearably sticky. The leather of the sofa, clammy. The fan’s wurring motor, deafening. An engined sputtered as it pulled out of the driveway. Three raps was all it took for time to unfreeze and blanket the remaining hours of the day with a sense of restlessness.

Thlock Thlock Thlock

Again.

I wonder how I must have looked glaring over the back of the couch, to almost immediately receive a slew of apologies. An oily forehead, fringe clumping together in sweat against it, furrowed brows and a scowl seems likely to have been the first look he got of me. A ludicrous shortchange compared to what I got to take in.

Leaning, statuesque, against the pillar in a brick red slub henley, darkened where sweat soaked into the cotton just above the backpack straps across his chest. They caught my eye, the clipped straps - It was a detail that stood out in this part of the woods where 12 year olds with no helmets on, piled onto bikes they built in their backyard, 4 at a time.

Maybe he was a button upped chap, I thought to myself. I scanned him. Nope. It was something in the way he casually held up his forearm against the pillar, leaning his weight against it, a boyish glint in his eyes, hiding beneath hooded lids that concealed a rumbling beneath the surface. Beneath the straps, the hair, the ironed khakis still crisp even after a 2 hour bus ride.

“Sorry” He flashed a grin, “I just- Did you know you have a hollow tile?” We broke eye contact, a voice inside my head protested (my voice?), as he shifted his attention to the tile beneath his foot. Rapped his heel against it twice before looking back up at me. The tile protested.

All at once my being felt exposed, even though I was concealed from nose-bridge down, his gaze felt like it pierced through the couch and its springs, straight to the me that nestled in skin, muscle and bone. Instinctively, at the sudden intensity of it all, I called for Grandmother.

“James! Oh thank goodness you arrived safely, why didn’t you call? I would’ve sent Steve to get you.”

His name was James. She cupped his face in her hands, an intimate gesture reserved for those she saw as family. He stooped low, pressing his chin into her palms as she went down the list of questions grandmothers asked. Have you eaten? Have you lost weight? Have you been sleeping well?

No, No, No, that’s why I’m here he had replied. Grandmother continued to hold his cheeks hostage but that didn’t stop him from stealing another glance at me through the corners of his eyes. I began to notice, his looking at me. Although disarming, piercing, all-seeing or however one may describe it, wasn’t predatory or intimidating. It was inquisitive, curious, analytical - I guess that’s what caught me off guard. Even though he was stealing snippets of me bit by bit, It didn’t feel like I was being stolen from. Because I found myself loosening my boundaries. Letting an essence of me evaporate from my surface, lighting my skin alive with a million bubbles, wafting through the air past the supple pink of his lips. I wanted him to drink me in.

Suddenly I was next to him, Grandmother leaving me with “the responsibility of taking care of our guest” and us in a smog of…was it sexual tension or awkwardness? Grandma pressed her palm to my cheek before teetering back to the kitchens. I hoped she hadn’t notice the heat dancing below the surface.

We watched after her. I felt his eyes on me again. Testing the waters, I didn’t turn back even after Grandmother rounded a corner, out of sight. A beat passed, and he inched closer. Unintentionally, maybe, I never got the chance to ask. I could feel his breath. The urge to savour the much needed coolness of it blowing gently against the back of my neck surged. Resisting, I turned too harshly, catching him off guard. His eyes dropped to the tile once more. And, again, the voice in me protested, yearning.

Thlock Thlock

“You have a hollow tile you know”

“I do now”

Thlock Thlock

“It’s bad luck”

“It’s bad grouting”

He chuckled, presumably at my tone as much as at what I said. A knee-jerk habit I had, of saying things laced with a matter of fact attitude to hide my eagerness, my rich desire for things to be more than they were. So close to his gaze, his x-ray vision, I doubt I had a chance of hiding. Slipping out of his sneakers, he parked them over the hollow tile. Along side my flip flops (unbeknownst to him). And just like that he left. Statuesque physique topped off with a backpack clip whooshed past me, popping the bubble we had been in. In the door-way, I lingered replaying the moment over and over, stuck, in the quick-sand that was the way he spoke, moved and looked at me.

I lined up my foot along his sneakers. My big-toe daring to stroke the rounded tip, cast in rubber, smooth. I knocked my heel on his tile. It was his now. Bad grout and all.

Somewhere in the distance, Grandmother called for dinner.

***

I shook my head, as though i could physically rid myself of the memory of meeting him for the first time. It played back every morning. Projecting on the inside of my eyelids before my body even got the chance to rise. Before my mind could enjoy a second of peace, even as the sun crept in through the blinds, the birds chirped outside and the rolling hills of the compound whispered in the wind. Today, I try once more. After 3 agonising months of watching him through monitors and only managing to interact during trainings for 3 minute sparring sessions, we were finally on the same mission roster again. A 24-hour recon mission. It was crooked, how this was what accounted for my feelings of happiness now. I was starved. Just a glance past me and he'd send waves of bliss down my spine, perking me up eager to assist. Who knows what state I would have been in, if this roster hadn't come in. Week old jello clogging up the tub, perhaps.

We'd only been on one other mission together - A month after they took Bucky away from me. Or rather, me away from Bucky. Me out of Bucky. They pried him open and pulled out all the parts of me he had savoured and swallowed whole. Replacing me with a generic pin-up model, one he now recalls as the girl he left with Grandmother when he got drafted. Bonnie. He could remember a name like that, while mine was a stranger to his lips when he first came to. My grandmother's reduced to nothing more than a hot summer with a Bonnie. They'd cut me out like a tumour, buffed out all marks I'd made on his mind. His heart. And made me watch.

I shake my head again. 

Stark had sent us out on a similar recon mission to the one I'm scheduled for today - but it was post Supressor. Before we got 6 feet from the compound gates, he had us turn back. Abort! He had commanded through the P.A system in the Jet. My hormone levels had spiked the moment I was alone in the jet with him. Another 5 minutes with Bucky and I would've fallen into another coma. It was as if around Bucky, my body no longer seemed enhanced. I was no longer super human, a super soldier or super anything. Just a mere mortal in his presence.

Despite it all, they could not separate us permanently. Our missions tended to overlap and I was the only one who could spar him during combat drills. They upped my Supressor intake and demanded I carry an extra dose, before throwing me back into the ring to train their newest Super Soldier. Stark had objected (You're gonna fucking blow out his liver), but the Board overruled (He's a super soldier. His body can take it. He'll heal.). I found myself thankful for the first time in a long time, for America's prideful machismo. If being America's I-can-do-this-all-day Poster Boy was what it took to have Bucky pin me down with his inquisitive look, to have it wash over me again, to have it track my every move again - that was who I would be, even if it was slowly poisoning me.

****

The lift doors opened into the hangar with a ding. Steel pillars as wide as a 200 year old banyan tree rose from the ground, branching out to hold up the retractable steel roof overhead. This expansive and expensive indoor parking lot, built to hold the Avenger jets (and the occasional Stark private fleet) had somehow become the go to briefing "room" for missions. In an estate with fully furnished boardroom and meeting rooms, Stark still preferred swivelling about on a rollie-chair and shouting over the occasional whurr of engines - he misses his mark 1 garage days.

"Steve! You're late."

Snap my fingers, hear Stark's voice and I'm back there. He had been sitting across me, eyes darting all over the room as he spoke purposefully quick. Knowing that in my sedated state I'd be spending every ounce of concentration on deciphering his words, and none on breaking his neck. "We brought him here, straight after he decided to play paper aeroplanes with S.H.I.E.L.D agents. There was no time to waste. We couldn't consult you, we couldn't warn you. And I'm sorry for that. But I would do it again if I had to. So far as the world's concerned, The Winter Soldier is dead, and will remain so. He. This guy" He'd pointed through the glass at a rising Bucky. His eyelashes fluttering open "He's Bucky Barnes, Captain America's best friend, and the second super soldier to survive a crash. As far as you are concerned...the both of you need to figure that out...

"You should get used to the distance. Better start now than later!"

No. I wasn't going to let those memories ruin today for me. I shook the ghost of Stark's voice from my head, and joined the one in front of me at the make-shift meeting table set up in the middle of the hangar.

"Good for you to finally join us." He mumbled, without looking up from the file he was so intently reading from.

"Us?" I took my seat at the other end of the table, looking around the hangar cautiously. Had I missed something? Was Bucky messing me up, already?

"Me, and this guy" He slid the file over. "says there you dropped a building on him. Any anger issues I don't know about, Cap?"

Rumlow's chiselled face printed in black and white stared back at me. I thought he was dead. Why was Stark handing me his folder now? I flipped through the rest of the document, my pulse rising as I got to the last page.

"A bit much, what you did to him, if i can say so myself. Anger issues, Cap. You gotta let me know, because I need him back in one piece, alive. God the paper work..if you fuck this up because of some anger issue I don't know about!"

A recent photo of Rumlow in full colour was splashed across the last page. In place of the handsome former S.H.I.E.L.D, CIA, Black Ops agent I knew, was a Hydra agent covered head to toe in burn scars that made it look like his skin was in a constant state of being caught between melting and solidifying. Stark was still rambling in the background as I tried to absorb what the mission was going to be about.

"Stark-" I sighed, deciding that I couldn't ignore the elephant in the room, "I have no anger issues. Other than over what you did to him. To me. It was necessary, I know. But, it's the way you did it...I was your friend, Tony."

He stared back at me, the sides of his mouth twitching - a tell I'd noticed way back. He was feeling guilty, and didn't like it.

"I don't want to kill you. And I don't need to. Because like Rumlow, you're already dead to me."

The elevator doors dinged once more. The rest of the team had arrived. Bucky. I watched as Tony swallowed his retort to put on his professional face. The go to Tony Stark look, the media darling, the face that hid everything beneath the surface. To me, though, it still looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

My dance with Tony took a back seat as the hairs on my arms stood, and a tingle rippled down my spine. I could smell him. That sweet scent he gave out wafted down the hangar straight into my system. I wonder if anybody else could smell it? My eyes fell shut unintentionally, tongue went dry, and I ignored the sound of Maria's footsteps walking past me. My body was shutting down my other senses as best it could, to focus on the one. I slowly rose from my seat, back still facing the elevator - revelling in his scent.

"Hey, Tone. Hi" a cheekiness laced his voice. The latter greeting aimed at me as he took a seat next to Tony - or Tone. I felt his eyes on me again, and realised I hadn't responded.

"Hello" I managed to choke out. The corners of his lip curled up, highlighting the soft shade of pink as they pressed together ever so slightly. How i wanted them pushed onto mine. It was just the both of us again, in a bubble.

"Look, look. Look" he went on suddenly, swivelling in his chair so that his entire body was facing me. "I know we were on that mission together for a whole 60 seconds, and we spar together occasionally but i'm so sorry we barely spoke and I-" he raised his hand "-I didn't catch your name.."

Just like that the bubble popped. My breath caught in my throat and the heaviness in my chest that had been there since the stimulus erupted, spread across my body till I could no longer feel my legs.

"It's Steve." Maria interjected, giving me a careful eye.

"Ok, now that we're all caught up," Stark, desperate to change the subject, glanced over with the same look before moving onto our briefing "It's just the 4 of us today..." his voice droned out into the background as it tended to do in my head.

I couldn't help thinking: Bucky gave the man I had to convince not to gun him down, a nickname...and he didn't even remember mine. Was it not worth remembering...

Was I?


	2. Interlude (Rebooted)

When a cooling breeze slipped through the neighbourhood, like on the night I first got to know him, we ate outside in the alleyway.

Decades of nurturing, had transformed the section of the alley directly behind the house into a vibrant haven that interrupted the endless grey of concrete. Birds eye chilli grew in large troughs by the drain, branches of pink and white frangipani trees stretched out over head shielding the various herbs and flora from the harsh sun rays in the afternoon.

I moved a few pots out of the way, making space for the tables Miguel and Di were bringing out. They squeezed through the narrow doorway with the foldable table. The jade marble patterned laminate was worn down in places exposing the cheap plywood underneath. The table had seen us through all sorts of occasions from birthdays and reunions to everyday gatherings over a home cooked meal.

“You guys need help with that?”

His voice danced in the wind. Landing on my ears like silk. I didn’t look even as I struggled with Di in prying open the table’s legs. Something in me hadn’t dared to. Even though with the way he had said it, the question seemed directed at me. There was no one in the alleyway, but us. The dog’s across the street no longer barked, Miguel was no longer beside me complaining about the rickety chairs. And the cavity that resided in my chest. The one that carved a hollowness like bad grout, didn’t seem so present anymore. Because he was speaking to me, and me alone.

“Yeah, man. James, is it? This table gets us every year.” Miguel’s voice wafted in the background. “We need to change this. The chairs too!”

I could feel his eyes bare into my back, leaving marks as they went. Like nails scrapping into skin. I liked it. I wanted him to watch me. Was he watching me? What I was feeling was no amount short of pure exhilaration. Again, my I was on fire.

The next few moments were a blur as blood rushed to my head. His hand wrapped around mine, pressing the rusted legs apart with ease. I could’ve sworn, electricity sparked when we touched.

***


	3. Chapter 4: Part 2

The Quinjet came to life beneath our feet. Silently rising through the retracted roof of the hangar, like a beast emerging from its cave. I watched from the co-pilot seat, as Stark and Maria's figures shrank, smaller and smaller, before they disappeared all together and all that was left was the jet's ominous shadow, cast over green planes as it weaved through the clouds. 

I watched the tendons in his hands and whites of his knuckles dance beneath his skin as he squeezed and unsqueezed the yoke*, his left jiggling beneath the dash. He hadn't been able to make eye contact with me since the briefing, and it was causing an awkward tension to blanket us. Better break this silence, before there's no turning back. 

"You good?" 

"Hmm" he still wasn't looking at me. Once, he would've stolen every glance he could get. 

"You're-" Dare I stop the jiggling of his leg for him? Dare I reach out to press my palm onto his thigh like I used to all those years ago, on the sleepless nights he would smoke a cigarette on the balcony, "-Nervous."

I reached over, giving his knee a quick tap. It went dead immediately. 

"Oh, no..I'm not nervous. Just worried" He fumbled with the GPS. I took over, keying in the coordinates "Thanks."

"Worried about?" This was the longest conversation we've had in months. I was about to float out of my body on a cloud. I wanted to fill in the gaps in his words with kisses and sweet nothings. 

"You." My heart stopped and it got harder to feign the pure bliss his attention was pumping through my veins. Me? "You nearly dropped into a coma the last time, pal. I'm just worried. I know you got the shorter end of the stick with this hormone thing but-" he sighed, finally looking at me. His eyes barring a hole through my skull. He knew about the hormones. "I just don't want it to put this mission in jeopardy, alright." 

If he had said he was worried for me, and stopped at that. If he would have said he was worried for me AND the mission, that would've been alright. Alright. 

"Do you have an extra dose of your suppressants?"

Alright. What would've been an expression of concern abruptly transformed into a scolding, a twist to the knife suddenly appearing in my gut, a "don't get in the fucking way again". Alright. 

I answered his question with a stiff nod, eyes staring dead ahead. My nose tingled, filling with a familiar sourness. I knew the instant my eyes began to water, there was no stopping it. Staring ahead, I am staring ahead. I repeated to myself over and over. Begging the drop not to come. Then, it hit me like a truck. The sudden fall in blood pressure made my head sit too heavily on my shoulders, off balance. My body veered to the side, my arm fell limp and my legs turned static. 

My body was pumping them again. Because it wanted Bucky. The Bucky that wrapped me in his arms when I got sick. The one that didn't get mad when we couldn't go to the beach he'd waited years to see, because I fell sick. The one that says alright, only when it really was. 

The hormones flooded my system, calling to him. But he never answered, never even seem to get the call as he sat there, blissfully unaware of what was happening. I fumbled with my seat belt. We'd been at cruising altitude for awhile now, leaving my seat wouldn't raise any suspicion. He peaked over at me for a split second as I staggered to the back of the jet, to where our equipments were. I'd stashed the extra dose in my rucksack, not expecting to need it, seeing how they'd already upped my daily intake in preparation for this mission. 

My vision pin-holed, and just before it turned black - the needle broke through skin and injected the blue cocktail into my system. I sat there, contraption sticking out of my thigh, out of Bucky's line of sight, till my the congestion in my chest lifted just enough so that I was no longer hyperventilating. 

But a mere mortal, I had become. 

The inside of the jet bathed in the orange as the sun began to set, disappearing beneath the horizon. I unfolded the cot from the side walls, rolling into the rough fabric. The hollowness in my chest still lingered. I could feel the panic that came along with my hormone spike, ebbing beneath the surface. Mocking me. 

The doctors made it a habit of calling its a spike, but it really felt more like a..drop.

It was like I was in my body and outside it at the same time, drowning in the cot, sinking deeper and deeper in slow motion and all I wanted - needed - was for him to fish me out. To show me how to breathe again. 

I found myself watching the back of his head. Tracing down the curve of his neck and back up again along his hair line. I could almost feel it again, the fine hairs against my finger tips. The parts that were tense and the part that joined his spine. Suddenly I was looking into a deep blue, and the drowning did't feel so bad anymore. 

"Steve?" his voice came in a whisper next to my ears. It'd always been like silk. 

"Fuck" Even when he swore.

"Steve, we're too far out, they can't reach us in time" Even when he worried

He was worried. He wasn't mad. 

"Alright" was the only word I could manage as my tongue grew heavy in my mouth. I twisted, wanting him closer. As he kneeled next to the cot, his forearm leaned its edge, right next to my face. I pressed my cheek into it. I had definitely lost all control now, the spike..drop has me. 

"Fuck" utter silk. "where's your extra dose, Steve"

I tilted my head up, purposefully meeting his gaze. His worried eyes, up against my sudden courage. 

"Inside me" 

I was holding him hostage just with a look. Daring him to read too much into my words. 

"Inside you" he mirrored back, hypnotised. 

Snap my fingers, watch his eyes dilate - and I'm back there. The moonlight peaking through the windows, illuminating his pale skin against mine. Glistening in sweat. My face buried in the crook of his neck, his lips pressed to my head. his arching with mine. Him running through my system. Inside. 

I felt the cavity in my chest filling

Suddenly, his face was an inch from mine. My forehead against his shoulder. His dilated pupils drawing me in. Like a moth to a flame. His breath blew out his parted lips onto mine. He was panting.

"Bucky" His eyes fluttered close. 

"Stev-" He tore away the moment our lips brushed. Falling onto his side. And I saw him. At full attention through the thick fabric of his S.H.I.E.L.D issued slacks. Suddenly his scent crashed over me, and my world spun as I looked up to meet his gaze. His breathing was growing from a light pant to a heaving chest. I could feel the heat radiating off him as he watched me noticing him. He made no move to hide. Neither did I.

Without breaking eye contact, he fumbled for his back pocket - pulling out a vial of the same blue liquid I'd pumped into myself some time ago. 

"Is that for me?" My words slurred as they fell out of my mouth. 

"No" He pressed the contraption into his thigh. "they told me I might need it" 

Was he at risk of falling into a coma? It didn't seem like it. Was I? My levels must be off the charts, but it didn't feel like it. This was different. It feels like it had all those years ago, but stronger. It was...Electric. Was this why they called it a Spike? Did they know this would happen. 

Thoughts raced through my head faster than I could decipher them. 

"Bucky" For the first time since the stimulus, I was using my words to beckon him closer. I could feel the panic rising again. I needed him in my space. 

His eyes were no longer on me. They were closed as he lolled his head backwards, concentrating on calming his breathing - or at least he was trying to. His left leg was jiggling, popping up and down frantically. His mind was on me.

"Buck-" In on motion, I slid of the cot and sunk my fingers into his thigh, near where it almost meets the hip. At the same time, my knee hitting what must have been a hollow compartment in the floor.

THLOCK

His eyes flew open, looking at me with that X-ray vision of his again. It felt like he was reading my thought like a picture book. If he could really see it - the vision of him looking down at me as my head bobbed. The memory of his lacing his fingers through mine. Could he see?

He breathed out through his nose, and I could see him shudder.

"Steve I don't know what's happening, we should get-" my body crashed into his. I couldn't hold back any longer. My tongue pressed past his lips, and he let me in opening his mouth. My hand on his thigh moved up, cupping his heat.

"Please" even after years, the word slipped out of me so naturally. 

And he understood. Like he remembered.

He flipped me over, climbing on top of me, pressing me into the floor as our bodies melded together. Arching into each other in unison. The hollowness in my chest, was long gone. The sadness, the helplessness from the months before, long forgotten. He was here, drinking me in again. 

The jet echoed with the sound of fabric rubbing, open mouths crashing, and desperate pants. 

"Stevie" He moaned into my mouth. Like he remembered. 

Our tongues danced, and he hooked one arm under mine, grabbing onto my shoulders, the other curled behind my neck - both pulling me into him as our movements grew more frantic.

"Sir-" before I could ask, he nodded. Like he remembered.

Pure bliss unleashed throughout my body, rippling in all directions, up my spine and down to my toes. My spread legs held onto him, as his spine arched. I came calling his name, as he did mine.

Snap my fingers, moan my name and we're back there.


	4. Rollercoaster

"Is this what you do all day" 

My eyes were closed. But still, I could feel his shadow blanket me as he stood at the foot of the couch I was sprawled on, once again - just like every other afternoon at my grandmother's. It was the way of life outside of the city. The heat, the humidity the laziness. All we did was lie down and wait for the evening breeze to settle in, then it was dinner.

"No" voice unwavering, I replied. 

Still, he could tell I was lying. Just like I knew the corners of his lips were turned up ever so slightly in a smirk, without even looking at him. I couldn't look at him. He was a temptress - that was the only way to describe it - graceful and slender in the way he moved, muscle tensing under glistening skin. My tongue ache in my mouth each time I look at him. 

I felt his presence recede. Where was he going? A pang of disappointment flashed through me. 

But before I could think anything of it, the other side of the sofa dipped. Strong yet gentle hands, rough from years of wear and tear, wrapped around my thighs. Kneading into knots. 

My tongue, paralysed by desire, lay dead in my mouth as it flooded with salvia. I tried to swallow, but the breath I was holding wouldn't allow. 

"Is this what you _like _to do all day?"__

__His words were barely a whisper in the dead silence of the living room. Nobody was home, Grandmother and the helper were at the market, Miguel and Di in their own place across the street. My back arched, silently yearning to tip his hands higher._ _

"This _is _what you like doing all day"__

 _ _My eyes were still pressed shut. Focusing on nothing but his caress, his chuckle - one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew I was on fire._ _

____"You haven't spoken to me all day, Stevie."_ _ _ _

____He dragged a thumb up my inner thigh, tracing circles with his thumb pad once he got to my underwear line. I was surprised he had noticed me ducking him all morning. Each time I heard his footsteps padding round the corner, I'd rush to the other end of the house to nurse the anger I was feeling towards him._ _ _ _

____I couldn't look at him. It wasn't just because he'd light my soul on fire, but because he'd douse it as well. What gave him the right to put me out! Leave me utterly paralysed. Each time I looked at him, a giant sign only I could see is stamped across his forehead and it says "IM LEAVING IN X DAYS" today that X was a 8. Tomorrow it'd be a 7. Then a 6, a 5, and before I know it there'd be no sign at all. Just me, alone with this anger._ _ _ _

____"You mad at me, pal?"_ _ _ _

____Just like that, he drenched it all and the breath I was holding ripped out of me, not in a yell, but a sob. He held me there, on the living room couch till the sun went down. Rocking as hot tears streamed down my face and I weakly hammered his chest with my fists._ _ _ _

____That was the first time I pleaded him to stay._ _ _ _

____\----_ _ _ _

____The cold floor of the Quinjet was making his bones ache. But Steve didn't mind._ _ _ _

____If you told him 3 months ago that he'd be right where he wanted to be - Under Bucky, running his fingers through his hair and stroking the back of his neck, revelling in his scent. Steve would have thrown you from Stark Towers himself for giving him hope._ _ _ _

____Bucky stirred, pushing up on his palms._ _ _ _

____Steve watched as he nuzzled into his hands, now cupping his face, for a split second before - His eyes fluttered open to reveal dilated pupils. They sucked Steve in like a blackhole, and he happily complied. Finally, he was being drunk in by Bucky again._ _ _ _

____Steve barely began to fall into him, when Bucky began to close. He saw it as his pupils shrank back to normal - the uncaring, business only stare Bucky had worn ever since he woke up. Steve had both hands cupped to his face now, hoping they'd somehow call him back._ _ _ _

____"Hey.."_ _ _ _

____Pulling the needle still sticking from his thigh, Bucky got up. Immediately, Steve missed the heaviness pressing down on him. It was like he was a stack of messed up papers and Bucky was the paperweight holding him and his entire world down._ _ _ _

____Bucky paced back and forth amongst the equipment before brushing past him to the front of the jet, giving the controls and GPS a brief check and buckling into the pilot seat._ _ _ _

____Frustration from the lack of attention bubbled in Steve's gut._ _ _ _

____"We're 10 minutes out, I'm going to take her down soon. You should strap in."_ _ _ _

____Bucky yelled over his shoulder, to the back of the jet where Steve still sat, crumpled on the floor, simmering in a mixture of adrenaline and a slow rising anger. An anger used to compensate for the rejection he was feeling._ _ _ _

_____For months. Months! I've waited for this, for him. Years if you count from when he chose to fucking leave me at Grandma's. And now he does this..and fucking has the audacity to discard me? ____ _ _ _

______The on flight system beeped, prompting them to gear up for landing. Forcing the monologue in Steve's head to take a backseat. He put himself together and got back to doing his job. Completing the mission was the only thing to focus on now, or at least he'd try._ _ _ _ _ _

______The release they had had simmered down Steve's hormones naturally. For the first time in months the fog lifted. He was no longer blindly grasping through the mist left behind by Eskrine's cocktail. With the clarity, he was finally able to feel the anger he'd been bottling up over the past few months - a rage that, fuelled by abandonment and rejection, grew unchecked._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Are you going to strap in or not?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yes..." replied Steve, buckling up next to Bucky "...Sir"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bucky froze._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Don't call me that. I'm second in command"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"We don't all get what we want do we?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______The words slipped out of him before he could even think._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Fuck. Steve, we're fucking working"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Just as he said that, Rumlow's hideout slowly came into view beneath them. A log cabin stowed away between trees and bushes, camouflaging perfectly - to the untrained eye at least. Bucky brought the Quinjet down, hovering silently above the cabin._ _ _ _ _ _

______"This is the part where you tell me what to do, Steve"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Steve lost it, the rage erupted from his gut and out of him in a single reckless decision._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You stay on the fucking jet. I'm going in alone."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"What! This a two-man mission, Rogers. Rumlow is dangerous."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"You wanted this. This is a fucking order-"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bucky rolled his eyes, ripping his seatbelt off "I don't have time for this." he muttered under his breath as he made a beeline for the equipment._ _ _ _ _ _

______Before he could make it to a gun, Steve lunged from his seat and tackled Bucky to the ground._ _ _ _ _ _

______"What the fuck, Rogers!" Bucky struggled against him as he pinned his wrists above his head . It used to be the other way round "We have 20 minutes before the engines unload the excess heat. We're going to lose all element of surprise."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Then fucking stay on the Jet" he hissed._ _ _ _ _ _

______Everything felt unnatural. He was never meant to be in this position, never to Bucky. His grasp on reality was slowly slipping as he began to lose more and more control. He couldn't explain his actions, it was like he was acting out from the lack of attention. Bucky's attention._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Look at me, Steve." Bucky's voice stern, but surprisingly gently._ _ _ _ _ _

______He hadn't noticed it, but his eyes were shut and he was trembling as his grip on Bucky's wrists slackened_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Look at me."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I can't" Steve whispered, weakly._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bucky freed himself from Steve's, now completely loose, grip. Sliding out from under him with ease as Steve slumped to the side. Making no move to console him, Bucky went about the mission popping open the equipment cases. He strapped on a bullet proof vest, grabbed his AK47 and slid a knife in the sheath in his boot._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Stay here. B-" Bucky paused, caught off guard by his instinct to say what he was about to say. He looked at Steve, once again a crumpled man on the floor of the Jet, contemplating if he should have said it anyway. And he did, because it somehow felt wrong not to._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Be good."_ _ _ _ _ _


	5. Understanding a drop

Natasha had a feeling something had gone horribly wrong. Her strides widened, picking up into a jog as Bucky came into view, disembarking the Quinjet. Anybody who knew Natasha, which weren't many, knew that once she caught a thought her laser focus would never let go. And right now, a vision of Steve crumpled and lifeless was trapped in her minds eye - thrashing and burning. His panicked scent had filled the air, reaching her sensitive nose before the doors of the elevator had even dinged open. She was sprinting now. Right past Bucky, paying no attention to a cuffed and gagged Rumlow rolling down the ramp, landing with a thud. 

On the rigged cold floor of the jet, Steve lay groaning and moaning inaudibly. Struggling to fill his lungs with much needed air. His vision waded in and out as his heartbeat blared in his ears and he could feel his blood flowing, like a growing current - transporting the toxin in his system through each and every one of his veins, arteries, capillaries - straight to his brain. A slight relief came over him as a shadow blocked out the blaring white light coming from the open door of the jet. 

It was Natasha crashing to his side, frantically wiping the foam erupting from his mouth - So that's why he couldn't get a solid breath of air - he thought. Bile and acid crawled up his oesophagus, flowing down his wind pipe. He was drowning in his own fluids. 

"Fuck. fuck, stay with me" she whipped out her radio, "Hill? I need EMTs at Hangar C now. Cap's dropping." the line cracked "I repeat. Captain America is down."

*

I remember the feeling of his arms pressed beneath me. Tucked between the curve of my lower back and the mattress. It didn't hurt. I moulded to his curves, laying over him like a sheet of fondant over cake. The nooks and crannies of my body opened up to him willingly, from the base of my spine to the gaps between my toes. All open, as our bodies tangled amongst the sheets. 

His weight atop me didn't hurt, none of it did. Nothing was hurting anymore, the pain in my bones retreated instantly upon his caress. Just a few short moments before this picture of a lazy Sunday in his arms, I had experienced it for the first time. What decades later the medical team at S.H.I.E.L.D would dub - The Drop. 

An unbearable ache, fuelled by a slow poison in our DNA - out to devour every inch of us, just like our lovers had. I say our, because that was just it - it's was ours. Something only those like me would have the absolute displeasure of experiencing and we took pride in that fact. We held this _Drop _up like a badge of honour - proof of our passion to want, to need our lovers.__

__Scientists all over the world thought it a pathogen at first, as pockets of people like me emerged back in the 40s. But, bless the historians, they dug their way through decades and decades of research from myths and legends. Years and years passed and still nothing, and by then almost all of us had died out. Succumbing to bond sickness alongside the idea of eternal love and soulmates. Welcome to the 2010s'_ _

__Then one day, a one Bruce Banner, curious as always, stumbled upon a cure. Or so he thought._ _

__The Hormone was only a temporary solution, like an inhaler. Puff, Puff. Your airways open, you get your air, you don't die - but you're still an asthmatic._ _

__And there's only so much puffs you can take before your body builds a tolerance._ _

__*_ _

__"We can't hook him up to anymore. He's already had 4 jabs today. His tolerance will build up and the next time...there won't be a next time."_ _

__Fury looked at Doctor Banner's pleading eyes and sighed before turning his back on him and reaching for the radio on the table._ _

__"Get me the goddamn Winter Soldier, Now!"_ _


	6. Hold me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the delay - I haven't had the chance to write what with covid and trying to look for a new job. But here you go - i've changed it up to doing script like writing to get through the story faster.

His shrieks echoed down the hallway of the medi-unit as the EMTs wheeled him in, Natasha running alongside them as they skidded around a corner. His screams grew. Nick Fury had ordered all staff - doctors, nurses and assistants alike - to evacuate under the guise of a security breach. 'The fewer eyes seeing this the better' he thought. They burst into an operating room, lifting him onto the operating table. Pleas of hooking him up to the hormone spewed from the first EMT - clearly a beta relating to the agony he was in. The second EMT had a much better solution - 'He needs an Alpha'.

"He won't come"

"He?"

"Was I talking to you?"

"He won't come. He's the only one"

"Um...Sorry...just to let you know"

"I swear to god, boy!"

"He needs AN Alpha. It can be any alpha!" 

Fury turned to face the second EMT - who he'd already dubbed 'loud mouth' in his head - 

"What?"

"At this s-stage, sir - it can be any alpha. Well, rutting alpha..or at least one without a scent blocker. J-just blind fold him and make c-contact, sir. I mean, there are risks. But -" 

The second EMT looked at him, then back at Fury. An understanding passed between them. Fury nodded once before rushing out of the operating room, leaving the doors swinging and the second EMT sweating through his shirt. 

***

"No-no I can't. Fury, the risks alone!"

"You're the only Alpha in a 3 mile radius without a blocker. I wish it wasn't you. But if you don't do this, he will die - tonight." 

Dr Banner stared back at Fury, the punctuation in the last word spoken still lingering in the air. He knew there wasn't much of a choice to be made. The world couldn't survive without Captain America. Not yet, at least. Banner ran a hand through his hair, steadying his breath. He looked out the lab window, overseeing the loading bay where Natasha stood inspecting the latest batch of hormone that dispatched the moment she found him. 

"Does she know?"

Fury didn't answer. He knew as well as Banner that he wouldn't be asking if Natasha didn't know. Alpha-Beta relationships were tricky to navigate in itself - Bruce Banner's and Natasha Romanoff's connection with each other made it even more so. In a different time, they may have spent an eternity together. But this was now, and as usual they were in different places. 

Tearing his eyes away from the window, Banner led the way to the medi-unit. 

***

They heard his screams before the elevator door even opened. An instant shot of anxiety shot through Banner as they picked up the pace. Fury had given him a nose plug, but still, his senses clouded with the scent of Steve dropping and the lights around him turned hazy. 'I'm not ready for this' he thought, steadying himself against the wall. Not missing a beat, Fury hoisted him up, half dragging him into the operation room. It was wonder how the EMTs could hear each other as Steve's screams bounced off the walls. Fury's lips moved it sounded like he was saying 'hold him' but Banner wasn't sure. He was still adapting to Steve's overwhelming scent - and everything else. The EMT's cut through his shirt and pulled up a bed next to Steve's.

"Wait, fuck- stop" knowing what they were about to do, "LEAVE. I need to do this. Fury - If we do this we need to do it right." 

The EMTs looked at Fury, waiting for instructions. A single nod sent them out of the room. And then it was just the both of them. Banner looked over at Steve - blindfolded and writhing under the restraints they had put him in to prevent anymore damage. Hesitantly, he unclipped the straps pressing into Steve's skin.

"Hey," he cooed, having to clear his throat before he could continue. It'd been awhile since he brought his voice down to a light wave like this. 

"Hey...Steve, you need to stay still for me, ok? I'm going to hold you" 

Gingerly, he slipped behind Steve - lifting him ever so slightly, making room on the bed. As if by instinct, Steve clung to him - the room fell quiet except for Steve's heavy breathing. Banner cooed, stroking his back. 'Everything's alright' he repeated to himself silently, letting the mantra bounce around in his head. He needed the reassurance as much as Steve did. This close, he was struggling to cope with Steve's overwhelming scent. Instinct made his belly stir and a familiar heat flashed through him. But, it didn't feel primal. There was something calming about having Steve pressed against him. Unknowingly, he buried his face into the top of Steve's head - breathing him in. A burst of pleasure and calm washed over him. 'Everything IS alright' he thought to himself. 

Moving in sync, the two got comfortable. Melding into each other's nooks and curves, cheek against cheek. Strokes and affectionate nudges exchanged, never growing fervent. All tension left Steve's muscles, the aching taken over by waves of serenity. He reached for the blind fold but was stopped immediately as Banner wrapped his fingers around his wrist - pulling them away. Suddenly, Steve whispered under his breath:

"Yes, Everything IS alright"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, please let me know if this was a bore. Should I continue?


End file.
